


Procedural Drama

by dracox_serdriel



Series: Another Chance at the Brass Ring, or Season 9 Fan Fiction [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Normal Life, Alternate Season/Series 09, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels, Angels are Dicks, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Destiel - Freeform, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eve's Army, Existential Crisis, F/M, Fallout, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Friendly Freaks, Gen, M/M, Mild Language, Monster mash, Murder Most Foul, Season/Series 09, Separations, Serial Killers, Slash, The Penthouse Strangler, Vampires, Werewolves, on the road
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracox_serdriel/pseuds/dracox_serdriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam partners with Dakota 'Dodge' Gage on a serial murder case in Chicago. After the recent estrangement from Castiel and his brother, Dean searches for answers on his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bankable

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers** : All episodes through 08x20 Pac-Man Fever.

**Chicago, IL**. Harper Scoggins walked casually up the flights of stairs in the parking garage to his car. When he arrived on the top level, he took a moment looking out over the city. The parking garage was about level with the buildings around it, which gave him a decent view. Had anyone been looking up at the time, they'd've seen his big, brown eyes staring up to the sliver of the new moon, his tall, slender physique casting a long shadow in front of him. 

Harper turned back and walked over to his car, repeating, "Level ten, row six, space twenty-one," in his head, which led him right to his car. 

As if his shadow itself had become alive, another person appeared just behind him in complete silence. Before Harper could react, the unknown person threw what felt like a lasso over his neck, tightening it. Harper could smell the man's musk, as indeed the attacker was a man. The rope around his neck tightened as the man yanked it forward, forcing Harper on his hands and knees next to his car. 

"Please – " Harper begged. But he couldn't speak. His fingers grabbed absently at the rope, desperate for air, for breath. 

The assailant wrapped more rope around his neck; then, he placed his knee on the small of Harper's back, almost gently. With the force of opposite action, the killer slammed all his weight down on Harper's back, which emitted sickening cracks and snaps, as he pulled up fiercely on the rope. 

Harper couldn't move; he couldn't scream in pain. His body collapsed so he was lying on his stomach, his eyes bloodshot. He was still.

The killer grabbed Harper's wallet from his pocket. Then he removed the rope from around his neck and hoisted the body to his shoulder. In a single fluid movement, he flung Harper's body down into the alley next to the parking structure, where it landed beside a garbage dumpster. 

For a moment, the killer looked up to the sliver of the new moon. Had anyone been looking up at the time, they'd've seen him smile at his success before he turned away and disappeared into the night.

The body of Harper Scoggins had eyes wide-open and his face pointed up. As soon as the killer moved away from the ledge, Harper allowed himself to move again. He took a deep breath and stood up; the guy took his wallet but not his keys, which meant he could still drive his car. 

He decided it was too dangerous. He hated playing dead, and he didn't know if that guy was still up there. He moved slowly because his entire body ached from the fall. He pulled out his phone to call for help.

 

 **Gardendale, AL**. Dean woke up in a motel somewhere in Alabama. For a moment, he felt light, as if today would be a good day. 

Then he remembered the previous week's events, and all the good feelings vanished. He glanced over to the clock; it was eleven in the morning. He never slept that long. 

Dean began to get ready to leave. He dwelled on his failure to contact Benny and failure to bring him back. Maybe that was something Dean just couldn't do. Before he finished his shower, he thought of the conversation he had with Cas. In particular, he remembered himself saying, "You don't know what'll happen – "

"Neither do you," Cas had cut him off.

Maybe he can't reach out to Benny right now, so Dean decided to put feelers out for anyone who might know something about rescuing people from purgatory.

Then he turned to his other problem; Dean needed to know what his relationship with Castiel would cost the angel. He needed answers. With that in mind, he made another decision right here and now in-the-middle-of-no-where-Alabama, to dig up answers come hell or high water. Especially now that Sam was pissed at him and likely still sulking back at the bunker.

Dean flipped out his phone and started putting feelers out for folks who knew anything about purgatory. It was two in the afternoon by the time he'd finished.

He checked out hit the road, scouting for a good old fashion abandoned warehouse.

 

 **The Hundred Mile Wilderness, ME**. Benny never minded stealing before, but something about running circles with an angel made him uneasy. He swiped an older model minivan because it blended. 

When Castiel had given him a list of sigils to add to the car, that's when he started feeling like he was just too damn old for resurrection. 

"An' why am I addin' these aga'n?" Benny asked. 

"So angels can't see you or me," Cas replied. "You need to do this quickly."

"Don' get me wrong, Cas, I 'preciate your help in resurrecting me, but, uh, I'm not sure we'd make good travelin' companions, you see?"

"Dean set up a safe house for you," the angel replied. "I need to get you there."

"Do I wanna even ask – "

" – your resurrection won't go unnoticed. The angels will want to know who did it, and they'll have no qualms injuring you to find out."

"I can live with leavin' then, I guess." Benny started adding sigils to the car's interior. 

"Once you've finished, drive to the motel I showed you earlier. I'll be back," Cas said then promptly vanished. 

Despite his misgivings, the vampire finished with the sigils and drove to the motel, just as the angel instructed. He wanted to call Dean, but he didn't have a phone. He also wanted new clothes, as he'd been resurrected in the nude, which he did not appreciate. He ended up wearing some of the clothes the angel had, which all looked a lot like Dean's. The entire scenario was very confusing to Benny. 

The flutter of wings. Castiel appeared in the back seat of the minivan surrounded by a dozen or so coolers. 

"We need to leave immediately," Castiel stated simply.

Before Benny could ask why, another person materialized on the roof of the motel. 

"Benny, now!" the angel insisted. 

Benny decided to keep a cool head and slowly drove the minivan out of the parking lot. 

"What are you doing?" Castiel asked. 

"Not drawin' attention to us," Benny replied. 

The first five minutes of driving was tense, but thereafter Cas seemed to loosen up. "They're gone."

 

"What're those?" Benny asked, indicating the coolers.

"Blood."

"Blood?"

"You do need blood, don't you?" the angel asked.

"I do, but – "

"So I went to blood banks and took as much as I could before angels found me."

"Holy hell, Cas," the vampire said, "what's bin goin' on since I died?"

"Many things."

"Care to fill me in?"

"It's not of import," Castiel said, managing to slide into the front seat without bothering Benny. "You need to tell me about the plot you uncovered while in purgatory."

"I do?"

"You told Dean, so I imagine you care."

"Yeah, that's right."

"And I do as well."

"All righ', I guess, but, you also have to fill me in on thin's. Like, where're we headed?"

"Once we get to I-90, travel west."

"I can do that."


	2. Intercut

**Chicago, IL**. Sam waited for Dodge at Bernie's Fine Diner. He grabbed a paper on his way in because the headline read PENTHOUSE STRANGLER STRIKES AGAIN; that's the case Dodge was working on. 

According to the paper, the killings started in San Francisco three months ago. The murderer hit three more cities before the first body appeared in Chicago. The nickname came from a local paper in San Francisco, which dubbed him such because he strangled his victims before throwing them off the roofs of high buildings. Back in Tampa, he began mailing in the victim's identification to the police the next day as a taunt. 

Sam found the entire article odd, as it asserted a second victim had been killed but failed to mention his name. Otherwise, the three-page article went into ridiculously specific detail. 

Dakota "Dodge" Gage laughed when she saw Sam reading the carefully quartered paper.

"Looks like you're used to reading the paper on the train," she commented sitting opposite him in the booth.

"Dodge, hey," Sam said as he stashed the paper.

"Nice to see you again, Sam."

 

Dean made a quick stop at a local Hoodoo store, but the storekeeper didn't want to sell to him. Nothing he said mattered to the elderly woman, who seemed certain Dean was lying to her. Finally, he pulled out the demon-killing knife and showed her it, which successfully convinced her that Dean Winchester was a hunter. 

After paying, he sat in his car for five minutes seething over how Sam could have easily gotten a sale with his dewy-eyed sympathy. What really pissed Dean off was that he knew his brother did a lot more to win people's trust, and he just couldn't do it, not the way Sam did it.

He rolled up to the empty warehouse he'd scouted. It was remote, abandoned, and structurally sound. 

Dean cleared one of the rooms on the bottom level and marked the floor.

"Let's light this candle," Dean said to himself.

 

"Sorry, I've had a hell of a day," Dodge said as their food came. 

"Yeah, I was just reading about the case."

After the waiter cleared, Dodge looked at Sam and shook her head. "I just went to make a next-of-kin notification the second victim."

"You sound confused," Sam remarked.

"Because when we showed up to talk to his wife, the guy was there, at his house," she explained. "Alive."

"But didn't you get his ID in the mail?" Sam asked. "Like the other victims?"

"We did, but we didn't find his body."

"Huh," Sam said, his fork half way to his mouth.

 

'Summoning an angel is never a good idea,' Dean thought to himself as he set up the ritual. The warehouse echoed hugely with every step he took, and he felt on edge, even jumpy. 

He forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Dean lit the match and threw it down, completing the spell. 

The few electronics in the building went out with a POP! Dean looked around.

"You're kidding," Metatron snapped. "You've got to be joking."

 

Dodge excused herself, "I'll be right back." Sam watched as she walked back to the diner's bathroom. 

As soon as the door shut, Sam grabbed Dodge's bag. It wasn't quite a purse, but it did have all of her belongings in it. He pulled out her phone and a notepad and quickly started to look through them.

His heart skipped a beat when another woman came out of the bathroom. Sam needed to hurry. The phone was a bust, so he put it back and leafed through the notepad until he came to today's date.

"Harper Scoggins" was scrawled in untidy handwriting on the page; under his name was one Vivian Scoggins, noted to be his wife, and his address. Sam snapped a photo of the page with his phone, hoping he'd be able to read the illegible scramble of letters later. Then he stuffed her notes back into her bag and put on his best innocent face. 

Dodge came out of the bathroom only moments later.

"How long are you staying in Chicago?" she asked.

"A couple of days," Sam replied. 

"Well, I haven't had a chance to thank you," she said, "for the help you've given me, sorting through all this stuff. And that weird case with people losing their voices – "

" – out in Wyoming, right," Sam smiled. "That was a crazy case, actually."

"You mean crazier than usual?"

"Actually, a little bit, yeah," Sam responded. "We have this rule – "

" – we?" Dodge asked.

"My brother and I," Sam clarified. He purposely avoided talking about his brother and other hunter connections with the FBI Agent. He had learned to trust her, given her dedication, but if he was wrong, no one was coming down with him. "We have this rule, there's never two crazy things going on at the same time."

"I take it there were in Wyoming?"

"Exactly."

They both laughed. It was nice, being out with someone and laughing. When Sam was with Jess, and even later with Amelia, he felt guilty for keeping secrets. The weight of that slowed Sam down. And, admittedly, he had kept things from Dodge, but she knew he was a hunter. She knew about the supernatural dangers out there, and that took away the guilt, lifted it from Sam's shoulders. That's why he could smile and laugh like this. 

At least, that's what he told himself. 

"So, thank you," Dodge continued, snapping Sam back to reality. "I know you've probably got bigger fish."

"Actually, I don't," Sam admitted.

 

"No joke," Dean said simply. "I've got some questions."

Metatron pointed his handy shotgun at Dean. "Why did you summon me?"

"Like I said, I've got questions," Dean replied. "Look, there's no holy ring of fire. No other angels, and I've warded against anyone who might want to drop in."

It happened to be true. Metatron didn't like it when humans told the truth; he found that they did this right before doing something utterly foolish. He didn't lower his gun, but his expressions softened.

"Questions about what?" he asked. 

"I want to know about fallen angels." 

"Like Lucifer?"

"No, not that fallen," Dean corrected. "More like, say, Gabriel."

"Gabriel? The archangel who left his post, made his entire family believe he was dead, then pretended to be trickster for a few thousand years?" Metatron asked in his most annoyed voice.

"Sounds about right," Dean replied. "What would've happened to him if he, say, cut out his grace to become human?"

From behind the barrel of his gun, Metatron could tell his hypothetical question wasn't about Gabriel. 

"You just said it," he replied blithely, "he'd be human."

"Yeah, I get that, I mean, would he have a soul? When he died, what would happen to him?"

For a man staring at the end of a shotgun, Dean really pushed buttons. Metatron lowered the gun but kept it trained on him. "What are you trying to accomplish, Dean?" the archangel asked with resentment.

 

Sam sat in his motel room, his mind occasionally wandering over bits of his and Dodge's lunch conversation. He shook himself out of it. He needed to focus on Harper Scoggins.

Something about the entire situation didn't add up for Sam. Maybe he just needed something to do with Dean being such an ass, or maybe it was just plain instinct. But the killer mailed the ID of this man to the police, like the other taunts, yet he was alive. 

"When we showed him his ID, he said, 'Oh, I lost my wallet a few days ago!' Turns out, he even filed to get a new one that morning," Dodge had explained to Sam. 

When Sam asked Dodge if she noticed any injuries on Harper, she had agreed. "Yeah, he had a bit of a limp, like a bad back, and he was wearing a turtle neck, but none of that makes him a zombie," she had added playfully. 

He smiled when he remembered her smile. 'Get a grip,' Sam thought to himself. 'Stop thinking about her and start thinking about the case.'

Sam was certain this was a case. Strangulation wouldn't kill a vampire, or a shifter, or, well, anything supernatural, really. Neither would falling from a great height. Usually supernatural entities left bodies in their wake, so Sam dipped into the local police reports. 

No heartless bodies, so likely not a skinwalker or a werewolf. No exsanguinated bodies, so not a vampire. Sam iterated through the list of possibilities, crossing out monster after monster as he went.

 

"I'm not accomplishing anything," Dean spat back. "I just want answers."

"And you summoned me?"

"You're the one with all the answers."

Metatron considered this. Dean hadn't been using flattery; no, he had been stating the truth. He honestly believed that Metatron had the answers. 

"Angels that fall have souls," Metatron replied. "God decides their final repose upon death."

Dean considered this seriously. Metatron didn't like company; he had learned to enjoy the solace of solitude in his years as a daring recluse. At one point in his life, he envied those souls in their own little heavens, happily existing alone. Something in Dean's behavior threw him, though. He thought he'd gotten a good take on the man when he and his brother struggled to slam the gates of hell. 

"You're fretting a single soul?" Metatron asked. "The guy who helped lock away every demon?"

"What's that suppose to mean?" Dean shot back.

"I mean," Metatron started, "you and your brother have affected countless souls and not always in a good way. Yet you're honestly upset about this one hypothetical soul."

"So what?"

"It bothers me you've summoned me for this little mind game of yours, Dean Winchester." 

"This isn't a mind game," Dean tentatively said. "I just, I need to know what would happen to Castiel if he – "

" – Castiel?" Metatron repeated. "He didn't cut out his grace, did he?"

"No," Dean replied. "But he brought it up."

"Why would he do that?" 

"It doesn't matter," Dean snapped.

Metatron raised the barrel of his shotgun again. "Of course it matters! The reason for his fall is an important part of how his soul is judged."

Dean hedged, "For love."

"Love?" Metatron repeated, "Can you be a bit more specific?"

Dean bit his lip and replied, "So he can grow old and die with the human he loves."

Metatron considered this. "That would make him an idiot, but I don't think God would hold it against him."

"You don't think? That's reassuring," Dean commented sarcastically.

 

Having eliminated anything creepy, crawly, or monster-like on his list, Sam concluded Harper could be a powerful witch. Unfortunately, in a city like Chicago, a clever monster might be able to cover its tracks, which meant Sam needed to prepare for everything possibility. 

He whipped up a batch of the witch-killing potion Bobby had given him and his brother. Then he packed a silver knife, bullets, and a few other odds and ends just in case. 

Sam stopped when he realized he was about to assess a possible case based on surviving an attack. Maybe, in this instance, subtlety would be more effective. He sat down and considered his options.

 

"Be honest, Dean," Metatron barked from behind his gun, "this isn't about Castiel."

"What're you talking about – "

'Humans can be such idiots,' Metatron thought to himself. "If this was about Castiel, he'd be here asking me, not you. So why don't you ask your damn question so I can go back to ignoring gnats like you?"

Dean ruffled himself but took a moment before responding. "All I want to know is – Will Cas be all right? I just want to know that much."

Metatron truly lowered his gun this time, pointing the barrel at the ground.

"What?" Dean asked at this oddly non-hostile gesture.

"This isn't about Castiel," Metatron repeated. "This is all about you. You're afraid."

"Screw you!"

"Not afraid to die," Metatron continued, "but afraid to live. Honestly, I should kill you," he indicated his gun, "for wasting my time. But that'll only give you what you want, the easy way out of your troubles, Winchester. Sorry, kid, you'll have to grub in the dark and hope for the best like everybody else. Give my love to the prophet, your brother, and Castiel." 

The sound of wings went up; Metatron was gone. 

"Freaking angels!"


	3. Murphey's Law

Sam approached the address he photographed from Dodge's notes. He hated the feeling of loose bracelets and rings on his right hand, but he had to come up with something subtle on short notice.

Knock! Knock! Knock! Came Sam's knuckles on the door of Apartment 812.

"Hello?" Harper spoke from behind the door.

"Hi, I'm your new neighbor," Sam smiled. 

"Oh," he said. He opened the door. "You're moving into 823?"

Sam hedged with a nod than extended his hand, "Name's Sam, I'm just introducing myself."

Harper shook hard, then withdrew his hand with an "Ow!" His palm burned where Sam's silver rings touched him. The man backed into his apartment, and Sam followed him ruthlessly, throwing the door closed behind him.

"Silver's your poison, but iron's okay," Sam said indicating his bracelet, "so, what, a wraith?" 

Harper literally cowered away from him. Before he answered, something hard and heavy crashed down over the hunter's head, knocking him out.

"Vivian!" Harper yelled. "This is our new neighbor!"

"To hell he is," his wife replied. "He thinks you're a wraith!"

 

His baby was running on empty, so Dean pulled into some gas station in Nowhereville, Arkansas. He'd been driving for hours and was still pissed about the encounter with Metatron. He should be happy; the jerk did answer his main question: angels-become-humans do have souls. Instead, he felt tired and even a little ripped off, and Dean didn't know why. 

Dean filled the Impala's tank and grabbed some grub. On his way back to his car, the station's sign flickered. 

"Damn it," Dean said out loud.

"A bit harsh." 

Dean turned around to see Naomi. 

"We need to talk, Dean," she said.

"I'm not really in a talking mood," he snapped. "And I've got somewhere I need to be, so – "

He got into the Impala, only to find Naomi riding shotgun. This bitch was seriously pissing him off.

"I don't mind going for a ride," she responded. "But we do need to speak now."

Knowing outright force wouldn't be successful on the likes of her, Dean turned on his car and pulled out of the station. 

"This going to take long?" Dean asked, biting his lip. His food was going to get cold.

"You've been helping Castiel hide," she said in complete disregard to his question. "And I can understand that, I suppose. But what I don't understand is why you stopped."

Dean didn't reply.

"I know about your little stunt back in Maine, Dean," Naomi continued. "Tell me, who did you raise out of purgatory?"

Dean felt like he'd missed a step. "No one," he replied.

Naomi quickly lost her patience. "We know someone was raised out of purgatory, Dean."

"And I'm suspect number one for that kind of thing, I take it?" Dean snarked back.

"You were in Maine when it happened."

"Got the wrong guy," Dean said. "Honestly, even with your hit out on Cas, I thought you'd have bigger fish to fry."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know, the whole demon plot to break out of hell and back onto earth through purgatory," Dean remarked casually. "I mean, if that won't get you to back off Cas, what will?"

Naomi asserted, "You're lying."

"I'm not," Dean said. "I was in Maine, and I did try to pull someone out of purgatory – "

" – why would you do that?"

"Because my friend sent me warnings, I needed to know if they were true," Dean replied.

"You said you failed," Naomi stated crossly. 

"I failed because the dude I enlisted to help me was in on the demonic plot. He had a reaper on a leash."

"So, you weren't the one?" Naomi said thoughtfully. "Was it Castiel?"

"The witch nearly killed me," Dean said in complete disregard to her question. "Cas saved my ass, like he normally does. Oh, and now I should be going to check in on Kevin, since, you know, the prophet might be in danger with the demons-sneaking-back-in thing, but I'm not because I'm too busy trying to protect the only angel I actually trust."

Naomi tolerated Dean's insolence because, unfortunately, she had no other choice. She asked him, as genuinely and directly as possible, "Are you telling me the truth? About the demons trying to get their foothold back on earth?"

 

Sam came-to in an old, ugly reclining chair. "What – "

"Sorry about that," Vivian said, holding an ice pack to his wound. 

"Who're you?"

"I'm Vivian, Harper's wife," she replied. "I didn't mean to knock you out, I thought you were going to hurt him."

Sam remembered where he was and struggled to get free. His head hurt. 

"Please, calm down," she insisted. "We don't want to hurt you."

"You don't?"

"No," Harper said.

"You're a – "

" – he's not a wraith," Vivian cut him off. 

"Then what is he?" Sam shot at her. 

"Werewolves," she replied.

"Werewolves?" Sam repeated, grabbing for his silver-bullet gun. 

Vivian sat on the couch next to her husband, "But that doesn't make us bad people."

"No, just heart-eating murderers!" Sam yelled back. He went to draw his gun, but his head was swimming and dizziness made him stop.

"We are not!" Harper protested. "We don't!"

Sam remembered he couldn't find a single report on heartless bodies. 

"We didn't take any of your silver, your knives, your guns," Vivian said evenly, "and we could of. We don't want to do anyone any harm."

Sam shook his head. "Madison, the last werewolf I knew, she didn't want to hurt anyone. She couldn't stop herself. When she became unconscious during the full moon, the wolf just, took over."

"We've got help," Harper explained.

"Help?"

"A few years ago," Vivian began, "we were turned by a pack. They wanted to raise an army."

Sam felt a kick in his stomach when he remembered Eve's plans to roast the planet. He was surprised they hadn't dealt with the fallout sooner. 

"We didn't ask for this," Harper continued. "So we got some help."

"What does that even mean? You can't reverse it; we tried that with Madison."

"Kelvin Colt," Vivian said. "He set us up, keeps an eye on us."

"And how did he set you up?"

"Hex bags to prevent transformation, a special cage to contain us for the three nights of the full moon just in case, and a security cam," Harper replied. 

"And who is this guy?"

"Kelvin Colt," Vivian repeated.

"He's a hunter," Harper added. 

Sam's head was swimming. He was chatting with werewolves. "Look, I'm sure you're trying – "

"You're here because of the attack," Harper said. "You are, aren't you?"

"Yes, but – "

Harper cut him off again, "You realize that I played dead? I could've defended myself, you know."

"Why didn't you?"

"It would've required tapping into that other part of myself," Harper admitted. "And if I did that, I'd've killed that guy. And I don't kill people."

 

"It's the only thing we can agree on," Dean said. "Keeping the gates of hell closed."

"You are also invested in protecting Castiel," Naomi pointed out. "That might be enough to make you lie."

"Look into it yourself," Dean snapped. "You probably won't even have to look too hard."

"Meaning?"

"I mean, your little vendetta against Cas isn't something I'm willing to just let go of," Dean replied. "And chatting me up in my ride isn't gonna change that."

"I will investigate, but you need to know I won't be giving up on my orders either." 

She waited a few moments. When Dean made no reply, she continued, "We may never had been friends, Dean, but if what you tell me is true, we need to find a way to work together."

"As long as you're trying to harm Cas, that'll never happen," Dean replied simply. 

As if seeing something for the first time, Naomi said, "You love him."

Dean could've replied sarcastically. He could have yelled at her to get out. He didn't. He responded as clearly as possible, "You sound surprised." 

Naomi stared at Dean. She didn't know what to say about this particular revelation, and what little she did know about Dean Winchester suggested his behavior should be more aggressive. She didn't like this one bit. 

The sound of wings announced her departure.

 

Sam asked skeptically, "So both of you are werewolves who've never killed anybody?"

"Honestly," Vivian spoke up, "neither of us knows for sure. The first two months we transformed, we didn't know we were werewolves. Not until the pack contacted us and told us to sign up with them."

Sam found the honesty promising. "But you didn't sign up with them?"

"You kidding?" Harper said. "We thought they were nuts!"

Sam took a deep breath. He could check out Kelvin Colt later; right now, he had to focus on the case. 

"I want to believe you," he said to the married couple. "But I've been burned in the past."

Several moments passed in painful silence. Sam then added, "But you can prove it to me."

"If everything we do isn't enough, what can I possibly do?" Harper asked.

"The man who attacked you," Sam said, "help me track him down."

"I can't... get close to him," Harper replied. "It'll be too hard to control myself."

"But it's the new moon," Sam pointed out.

"The guy garroted me and threw me off a building," Harper snapped. He calmed himself down, "The werewolf plays on fear and revenge, even when the moon is new."

Sam nodded. "But you could help me find him?"

"I guess," Harper said skeptically. "What would you do then?"

"I know an agent working the case," Sam replied. "If I can identify the killer, I can give her the name. She can arrested him and put him away."

Vivian and Harper exchanged a glance. Then he said, "I'll do it."


	4. Ticking Clock

Sam followed Harper's graceful movements through the city. They started at the point of attack, where the Penthouse Killer had tried to kill the werewolf. He dashed down the stairwell to the ground floor.

"This is how he escaped," Harper said. "Then he went this way."

The werewolf made short work of the whole thing. They followed a few alleys and roads before coming to a modest hotel. 

"He fled on foot?" Sam asked.

"No, he walked calmly," replied the werewolf. "He didn't break a sweat. All business."

Sam didn't like the way Harper said the word business, as if it were offensive. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I am, just pissed off someone would kill me and walk off like it was a milk run," he replied.

"Crazy serial killer," Sam offered as comfort.

"He's in this hotel," the werewolf said. 

It wasn't a cheap motel; there would definitely be some security.

 

Dean put on the headset Charlie gave him. He thought it'd be lame, but it felt like it wasn't even there. 

'I should call Sam,' Dean thought to himself, but he didn't. 'I should call Cas, too.'

Instead, he turned up the Led Zeppelin.

 

Harper walked up the next flight of stairs and popped his head just beyond the door to the main hallway. 

"Anything?" Sam asked, just behind him.

"Nothing," Harper replied glumly. "If we could use the elevator – "

"There're cameras in the elevator," Sam replied. "Come on, ten more levels."

With a heaving sigh, the mild-mannered werewolf continued up the next flight of stairs, repeating the process they'd already done ten times before.

When they reached the top floor, it occurred to Sam that they should've started on this level. This was the guy who liked to throw people off buildings; maybe he enjoyed top-floor views. 

"He's on this level," Harper said, "but it's faint." 

"Can you figure out which room?"

Harper nodded. When Sam went to go with him, he stopped. 

"I should go alone," he replied. "Your scent is making it difficult to hone in."

Sam cast a sideways glance at him. "What if he's in his room right now?"

"Then he'll be easy to find," Harper said. "Stay here, I'll be back."

As much as he didn't want to Sam obliged and waited.

 

Benny had spent years on the high seas with marauding and vindictive vampire-pirates, yet somehow Castiel ranked as the worst traveling companion he'd ever had. 

Cas said, "You seem... unhappy."

"Guess I jus' don't know whatta do with myself. I want'd to warn, Dean, sure, but wasn't expectin' anyone to resurrect me fer my troubles," Benny replied. 

"Tell me about it," Cas said. 

"How much further we gotta go?" Benny asked. 

"Several hundred miles at least, let me calculate..."

"Ya, you do that."

 

Harper fled back into the stairwell, "We should go."

As they tore down the stairwell, Sam asked, "What room?"

"What?" Harper bellowed back.

"What room was the guy in?"

"Oh, 1056!"

Sam chanted the number all the way down to ground level. His legs ached in response.

"You did good," Sam panted out. "Now you should go home, I've got this from here."

"You sure?" the werewolf asked.

"I insist," Sam replied. He handed off a business card. "You think of anything, or you need someone to vouch for you, you call me, okay?"

Harper smiled and bobbed his head, yes. The color started to return to his face. "Thank you."

Sam gulped down a little more air after Harper left. When he felt better, he headed back into the lobby to the main desk.

"I just tried to get into my room, ten sixty-one," Sam said to the clerk. "And this card, it doesn't work."

"I just checked you in, uh, Sam," the clerk sounded surprise. He typed furiously into the computer. "Sorry, Samuel Carpenter? Isn't that right?"

"That's me," he replied.

"So sorry, I'll fix the card right away. Please give me a second. 

As soon as the guy disappeared around the corner, Sam turned the monitor around. He searched by room number and typed in '1056' and hit 'Search.' The following information popped up on the screen:

ROOM: Single  
NAME: Booker, Dylan  
MEMBERSHIP: Business Travel  
STATUS: Platinum

Sam photographed the screen then cleared the search and turned the monitor back around. The name Dylan Booker might be a fake, but if he had a platinum membership with this hotel chain then maybe the alias would be easy to track. 

The apologetic clerk came back and handed Sam the room key. "My apologies, Mr. Carpenter, would you like a complimentary dinner from our room service?"

"That'd be great," Sam replied. He immediately regretted it, as he'd have to be in the room to receive it. "Thank you," he said to the clerk.

Sam knew he'd faced more dangerous elements than some random serial killer, but he still felt that knowingly setting down next to one wasn't smart. 

'The food better be awesome,' he thought to himself as the elevator doors closed.

 

Turns out, the hotel's room service was fantastic. Sam munched happily as he did a background check on Dylan Booker. The name was a fake, but not an alias or a cover. It was a pseudonym for a traveling artist hitting up local festivals. 

Sam could tell it was a pseudonym because there were no taxes filed under that name. He could push more, but he was worried any serious that hacking would draw too much attention.

And night was falling. He needed to update Dodge, even if it was incomplete. He called her.

"Hey, Dodge," Sam said, "it's me."

"What's up Sam?"

"You alone?"

"Uh, yeah, just left the office about an hour ago," she replied.

"I know who your killer is," he said. 

"What?"

"He works under the name Dylan Booker," Sam continued. "Not sure what his real name is yet."

"How do you – "

"I can explain everything," Sam cut her off. "But I'm sort of checked into a room only a few doors down from him – "

"What?" Dodge cut him off.

"I can tail him for you, tell you – "

"No way," Dodge cut him off again, more fiercely this time. "You can't get yourself involved in this, Sam. People will put two and two together and your identity – "

"Okay, okay," Sam relinquished. "Then what should I do?"

"Tell me where you are."

"The Riverside Hotel on Eastin Lane," he replied. 

"Okay, you know what this guy looks like?"

Sam realized he didn't, but he knew away he could find out. "Yeah," he replied. 

"Good. Your hotel is ten minutes from mine," she said, "I'll pull up outside. We'll tail him together just in case. And you can fill me in."

"Ten minutes, okay," Sam repeated.

He hung up and steeled himself. As casually as possible, he walked over to room 1056 and knocked on the door. 

"Hello?" Dylan Booker asked through the door.

"Hi, I'm Sam, I'm here to purchase some art," he replied.

Booker slid the door open, leaving the door chain on so it only cracked. Sam roved his eyes over the man's features. He was five eleven, black hair, small blue eyes, and had a large, wedge-shaped nose. He had also a pearly-white scar that started mid-way through his left eyebrow and continued back to his left ear. It looked like an old burn.

"Sorry, I don't remember speaking with you, been a long day," Dylan replied. "What are you here to purchase?"

Sam noted the long, black overcoat Dylan wore. He had on a very basic dark button up and dark slacks, too. 

"I'm sorry, I'm looking for Andrew Styx," Sam invented wildly. "He's doing a commission for me... I thought this was his room...?"

Dylan's suspicions were clear from his expression. "No, I'm not Andrew." He slammed the door shut. 

Sam quickly went downstairs and waited across the street for Dodge. She pulled up, a little late, and Sam dropped heavily into her passenger seat. 

"He's got a scar," he said to her before a greeting. "From his left eyebrow, to his ear."

"You know what he's wearing?"

"Long, dark overcoat. Dark shirt and pants."

"Finding a man in a dark coat and pants in Chicago," Dodge quipped. "Sure, no problem."

Sam laughed. "He's almost six feet tall, so that's something. And the scar."

"Right. Now you have to explain to me why you think this guy is our killer – "

"There he is!" Sam exclaimed. He pointed to a fast-walking man who just stepped out of the hotel. "We have to follow him, Dodge."

She obliged, putting the car in gear. Sam moved the passenger seat all the way back and slumped down as far as he could.

"What are you doing?"

"He saw me, so I'm being as short as possible."

"Okay, tell me what's going on," Dodge said, keeping her eye on the moving figure.

 

For what felt like the tenth time, Dean hovered over Sam's phone number. He should really update him on Naomi. 

"What am I, a twelve-year-old girl?" Dean said out loud to himself. Then he dialed Sam's number.

 

Dodge's jaw dropped more than once during Sam's explanation. "You do understand what this means?" she said.

"What?"

"I have to catch him in the act," she replied. 

"Why would you – "

"Because I can't tell the DA that one of his victims was a werewolf that survived the attack and then literally followed his scent to track him," Dodge replied. "If what you're saying is true, and this guy is the Penthouse Killer, the only way to catch him is red-handed."

Sam swallowed. "I can help you."

"No," Dodge asserted. "You can't be involved. People will want to know who you are, and that'll complicate things."

Sam's phone rang. It was Dean. He promptly hit "Ignore."

"Does the Penthouse Killer strike every night?" Sam asked. 

"Sometimes he'll kill one night after the other," Dodge replied. "Other times he'll wait a week."

They successfully followed Dylan, as he took main road sidewalks, all of which were well-lit. 

"He's not exactly being stealthy," Dodge remarked.

"No, but according to Harper, this guy walked slowly and calmly back to his hotel, which was just a few blocks away from the attack."

"A calm psychopath," Dodge commented, "that's always good."

"Is he going into that – " Sam started to ask.

"Parking garage? Yes," she replied.

"Park on the level right below the top," Sam instructed.

"No," Dodge replied. She pulled up to a metered parking spot and pulled in. "You stay. If the cops come, you need to haul ass out of here, okay?"

"But, you – "

"Sam, chances are this guy isn't the guy, and if he is, he targets men, not women," Dodge's voice became very authoritative. She indicated a sign on the entryway. "And this parking structure has cameras. Stay here."

He hated the idea, but she had a point. "All right, be safe," Sam replied. 

He watched as the FBI Agent disappeared into the parking garage.

 

Dodge didn't know why she trusted this man. Maybe his father saved her life, sure, but he also worked in dangerous situations involving ghosts, monsters, and demons. 

She took the elevator up to the level just below the roof. She didn't want to spook the killer, assuming that's who this guy actually was. Part of her wondered if her trust for Sam was based on how he made her feel. He has such trustworthy eyes. 

Dodge scrambled to the stairwell and drew her gun as she quietly paced up the steps. On top of everything else, she had to accept the existence of werewolves, of all things!

She looked out over the top level, and at first she saw nothing. She took a moment and listened. She heard it; the sound of a struggle nearby. She threw the element of surprise away and booked it into the center of level, hoping she'd be able to see more. 

She didn't have to go far. The scar-faced man with the long, black coat was standing over someone on all fours. 

"Stop, FBI!" Dodge cried, pointing her gun at Dylan.

He looked up, shocked, but didn't let go of the rope.

"It's over! Drop the rope go and step away from him!" Dodge ordered. 

Instead, Dylan pulled up, and Dodge fired. The killer fell back into an adjacent car; he took a bullet to the left arm. Howling in pain, he dropped the rope and ran.

Dodge made it over to the man on the ground. She took the rope off his neck and said, "My name is Agent Dakota Gage, FBI. Who are you?"

"Jeremy Palmer," the man gasped.

"Jeremy is this your car?"

He nodded.

"You need to get in, lock the doors, call nine one one for an ambulance," she instructed. "Stay inside, okay? Don't open the door unless it's me, the police, or a paramedic." 

As an afterthought, Dodge handed him the rope. "Hold on to this for me, I'm going after him, okay?"

Jeremy nodded blankly, took the rope, and got into his car. 

She spun around and tore after the guy, who was bleeding quite freely. He had collapsed against the wall near the elevator; maybe the bullet did more damage that she thought. 

"Hands where I can see them," Dodge ordered, pointing her gun. "Now."

He shook his head but didn't respond.

"If you can't raise your hands," she continued, "then get on the ground, face-down."

The Penthouse Killer moved forward getting on the ground, slowly. Dodge moved to cuff him. 

It was all a ruse. Dodge found out too late, as he clobbered her with a sweeping strike and grabbed for her gun. He spun her around, his face dark and snarling, pushing her back against the wall he'd just been leaning against.

Bang! The gun went off between them. With all his weight, the Penthouse Killer threw himself towards Dodge, knocking her over the edge by the fire escape.

 

It took all manner of self-control to prevent Sam from running out to help Dodge after her heard the first shot. But he waited. 

Minutes - though it felt like hours - later, Sam saw two bodies on the top level. Another shot fired. The first body threw itself into the second, which tumbled from the fifteen-story roof, ricocheting off one of the fire escapes on the way down before slamming into the pavement. Sam dimly noted the first body collapsing away from the edge.

"Not good," he said to himself as threw himself out the door and ran over, hoping the one who fell was the serial killer. 

Sam found Dodge broken on the ground. She was covered in blood.

"Dodge," Sam whispered, "Oh, God – "


	5. Contractual Immortality

"Ya know," Benny stated, now riding shotgun. "I was wonderin'. You know of anything that can, maybe, turn me human ag'in?"

Cas kept his eyes on the road when he replied, "No. But, that doesn't mean it isn't possible."

Benny nodded to himself. "We need more gas, an' we should switch places."

"All right," Cas said. He took the next exit ramp and pulled into the first gas station he saw. 

"You need anythin'?"

"No." 

Benny purchased a burner phone and a new pair of shades for the drive.

As soon as he arrived at the minivan, Castiel said, "Continue to drive to these coordinates. This is Dean's primary phone number." The angel handed the vampire two clips of paper. 

"Aw-right," Benny replied. "But why – "

"I need you to give Dean a message for me as well," Cas replied as he handed Benny a sealed letter. "He'll be displeased, I'm afraid."

Benny commented, "That's pretty old-school. Why don't ya just tell him yourself?"

"I have to go," Cas said. Then he vanished.

"You don't say," Benny said under his breath, climbing back into the van. 

He didn't wait. He couldn't wait. He pulled away from the gas station and parked to dial Dean's number.

 

"Hello?" Dean said into his hands-free set. He was almost back to the bunker. 

"Hey th're, Dean," responded the other line. "You miss me?"

"Who the hell is this?"

"You don't know?"

"Who is this?" Dean barked.

"It's Benny, you idiot," Benny replied. "Your angel buddy gave me the coordinates to a cabin out in South Dakota, yeah?"

"Benny?" Dean repeated dumbly.

"I'm headin' to this cabin of yours... meet me there?"

"Yeah, I will," Dean said, disbelief still tight in his voice. "Benny, I – "

"Aw, save the hallmark, Dean!" the vampire replied. "I'll be seeing ya soon."

Dean hung up and changed direction; no Bat Cave for him. Ten more hours on the road out to the Badlands Cabin.

 

Sam knelt over Dodge, trying to assess her wounds. She couldn't speak anymore, and she was having trouble breathing. The whine of sirens rolled closer, but they were too late. She was done for. 

He called out to Cas, even done the whole silent prayer thing. But he couldn't expect the angel to show, out here in the open.

Sam's heart leaped at the sound of wings.

"You called?" Cas said.

"Cas, you can't – "

"I can," the angel corrected. "But I don't have much time."

"She's gonna die, Cas," Sam indicated Dodge. 

Cas recognized the woman, but he knew the other angels would be here soon. "We will discuss this later," he added sharply to Sam. 

He reached out and touched Dodge's forehead. She gasped in the air and looked up at Cas just in time to see him disappear. 

"What? What?" she repeated. 

"Take it easy," Sam replied, stopping her from getting up.

"I shot him," she said. "I got him in the stomach before I fell." 

The sound of wings rang out again, and Sam looked up. It wasn't Cas; instead, it was a woman.

"Sam Winchester," barked the woman. "Where is – "

"Not here!" Sam cut her off. 

"Indeed," she replied wearily. "Mark my words, we'll find him."

Then she disappeared.

Dodge pulled against Sam as she stood up. "What's going on?" she asked.

"It's complicated," he replied. 

"You should go," Dodge remarked as the sirens roared closer. "Check into a new place," she added. "I'll call you when I can."

"How're you going to explain all this?" Sam asked.

"I'll figure that out," she dismissed. "I'm good at narrative."

Sam couldn't abandon her.

"You just saved my life, no matter how complicated," she continued. "I'm not dragging you through the wheel because of that. Now go!"

How could he argue with that? He ducked out of the alley and was off.

 

The next day Sam finished the last touches on the sigils for his car. He hated himself for not adding them sooner; Cas would've had a safe getaway then. What if something happened to him because of Sam? Dean would be devastated. 

"Cas," Sam whispered. "My truck's been rigged to hid you from the angel assassins, so... when you've gotta chance, I'm parked in the lot attached to the Murray Fir Tree Inn outside of Chicago."

Nothing. Did Sam really expect him to drop in right away? 

Before he could continue his thoughts, he saw Dodge's FBI-issued vehicle park. She was running early.

He walked over to her as she got out of her car. Before he could say anything, she threw her arms around him.

"Woah," he said, hugging her back.

"Thank you," she replied, breaking the embrace.

"You wanna – " Sam indicated his room's door. 

"Yeah, sure."

She sat down at the small table in the room. 

"You able to figure everything out?" Sam asked.

"Managed to convince them I'd just been knocked onto the fire escape, not down fifteen levels to the pavement. Freaked out the witness even more."

"The witness?" Sam asked.

"The killer attacked someone last night," Dodge explained. "He's alive and a little terrified."

"I can't imagine," Sam replied sympathetically. "And the Penthouse Killer?"

"He made it through surgery and he's booked," she said. "I won't know more until forensics does their thing, but we think he used the same rope in all the killings, so with any luck at all, DNA evidence will make this a slam-dunk."

"That's great."

"I wanted to thank you," Dodge continued. "And ask..."

"How you were suddenly okay?"

"After falling fifteen stories and breaking most of the bones in my body," she added.

"You know that there's stuff out in the world that's just... evil," Sam began. He wanted to tell her about angels, but that meant he'd have to explain Castiel, and he had promised Dean he would specifically avoid that.

"Yeah," she pushed him.

"Well, in spite of everything," he said, taking her hand, "there are things in the world that're just... good."

"So you're saying my miraculous recovery occurred because, what, good things do happen?" she suggested playfully.

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying."

Sam realized he'd been holding her hand too long for the contact to be about comfort or sympathy. He pulled away as gently as possible.

"Like I said, it's complicated," he added.

"Like the disappearing people I saw?" Dodge asked. 

"Look, I want to tell you everything, but as soon as I do that, it's like, you're in. On a whole crapload of other stuff, and you're plate is full of normal human serial killers."

Dodge knew she wasn't going to get anywhere on this one. "I understand," she replied. "Thank you. For everything."

A moment passed between them. Sam felt uncomfortable and regretted withdrawing his hand.

She broke the tension with, "How much longer will you be in town?"

"Actually," Sam replied, "I planned to leave today."

Dodge agreed, "That's a good idea, in case anyone saw you around the crime scene." Her voice had a practical edge it didn't have before. "Will you call me when you get whatever it is you're headed?"

Sam smiled. "I will. Will you update me on the Penthouse Killer?"

Dodge looked into Sam's eyes. "How could I not?" was all she said.

 

Benny rolled up to the cabin's coordinates. He'd gotten lost three times, circling the general area. The signature Impala was there, and he rolled right up next to it.

Dean nearly tackled him when he knocked on the cabin door.

"Benny, you sonovabitch," Dean barked. "How are you alive?"

"Dunno," the vampire replied. "You need to ask Cas 'bout that. Then fill me in, huh?"

"Cas was with you?"

"He split before I called you," Benny explained. "Gave me this to give to you."

Dean held the unopened letter like it was a prized possession.

"You okay?" Benny asked.

"Yeah, man, I'm just so damn happy to see you again."

"Tell me about it."

"I will, but first, we gotta talk about your nightmare-o-grams," Dean said. 

"Yeah, sorry, didn't know they'd be so... upsettin'."

"Upsetting? Dude, the last one you sent me got my left and several toes blown off. Nearly got me killed."

"Wha'?"

"Andrew Hickles, the name you sent me," Dean said. "A few days ago."

Benny turned his head. "Uh, Dean, I didn't send you names. I don't have any names."

Dean gapped at Benny. "But you did sent me warnings?"

"Hell yeah I did," the vampire commented. "About rumors flyin' around in monsterland, but no one told me any names."

Dean felt like he was going crazy. Sam was the one in the family with the psychic crap, and that ended years ago. "Then who did?"

"Huh," Benny spoke softly. "I guess we should find out."

 

Sam drove out of Chicago, taking a short detour before heading back to the bunker.

He'd been on the road for three hours before Castiel appeared riding shotgun. 

"Woah!" Sam shouted, swerving in surprise. "Cas, you need to get a warning bell or something."

"Sorry," the angel replied. 

"What happened to you?" Sam asked. Cas had injuries, and his trench coat was ripped. 

"A few angels tried to capture me," he said mildly. "They failed, obviously." 

"I'm sorry Cas, I didn't mean to – "

"They were after me before you called," Cas interrupted. 

Sam didn't know what to say to that.

"That woman," Cas began. "I've seen her before. Wasn't she the social worker who – "

"She's not a social worker," Sam cut him off. "She's an FBI Agent."

Cas tilted his head. "Dean mentioned something about that. But he assured me that nothing would come of it. For your safety."

Sam swallowed. "Look, Cas, Dean doesn't know, but she's been sending me possible cases. I've been helping her out."

"You trust her?"

"I do."

"She was gravely wounded," Cas observed. 

"A serial killer threw her off a roof," Sam explained. "Thank you for helping her, Cas."

"Dean doesn't know?"

Sam shook his head. "Not yet."

"I need to get back to the Bunker," Cas changed topics. "There is some research I need to do."

"Isn't Dean there yet?"

"No."

Sam felt concern, but he didn't ask anymore. "Is he okay?"

"As far as I know," the angel hedged. "Do you know when you will be back at the bunker?"

"Not for another nine hours at least," Sam replied. "What's going on Cas?"

He shifted in the passenger seat. "I know that you both want me to be safe, but right now there're things I must look into as an angel."

"Cas – " 

Cas continued to speak without regard to Sam's interruptions. "Dean is at the badlands cabin right now, and I believe it will be better for both of us if I investigate the Men of Letter's archive while he is not there."

"Cas, are you two okay?"

"Dean needs space and answers," Cas replied, "and I cannot give him the latter, so I'm making sure he has the former. And as I said before, I have my own mission now."

"Can't I help?" Sam asked.

"Call to me when you're home," Cas replied. Then he vanished. 

"Bye," Sam said to the empty car.

 

Dodge tried to unwind, but it was difficult to relax in a random hotel room. Her personal stuff, her home, that's what really got her to rest. 

She dropped the plastic cup of wine she'd been drinking when she saw a stranger appear in the room. 

"Who are you?" Dodge pulled her gun.

The intruder raised her arms and said, "My name is Avaida. I'm not here to harm you. I'm an angel."

"An angel?" Dodge spat.

"That's right, just like the one who healed you last night," Avaida responded. "The one with Sam Winchester."

"How do you know Sam?"

Avaida smiled. "He and his brother are... well-known in supernatural circles."

"What do you want from me?" Dodge asked.

"Lowering your gun would be nice," Avaida replied. "I'm on your side, after all."

Dodge lowered her gun but didn't put it away. She left the safety off, too. 

"I only came here for curiosity," Avaida explained. "Angels don't just heal anyone. You must be special for Castiel to have helped you."

"Castiel?" Dodge repeated.

"The angel who healed you, that's his name. He has, a, uh, long history with the brothers."

"Look, I'm just an FBI Agent, I'm not sure why an angel would heal me."

"You are a good person," Avaida acknowledged. 

Dodge said nothing. 

"I understand your hostility," the angel said quietly. "The angels are on your side, though, and I hope you remember that. There may come a time when you will need our help. All you have to do is call out to me. Be well."

Avaida disappeared, leaving Dodge confused.


End file.
